The Vicious Bug
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Tony battles a new adversary - a germ. Tim and Delilah help.


**AN: Having had not one, but TWO vicious bugs between Christmas and my birthday, (blooming excessive, that was,) I now, of course, think the whole world wants to read about one. Who better to inflict it on than poor Tony. No plot whatsoever, but sequel (with her kind permission,) and homage to Unilocular's 'Snow Angels', one of my favourite snow stories ever. **

**Very slight nod to a previous story of mine, 'Un Mallard Imaginaire'. And thanks to Binky for a name for the Bug.**

**Apologies for having written nothing since October – rather busy with our 'Ratty Tails' for my beloved steam museum – book one GOES TO PRINT next month. VERY excited! **

The Vicious Bug

By scousemuz1k

Friday night, and heading _home_. Unlike himself, the car roared into life as soon as he turned the key. Good. He'd made his escape from the bull pen without anyone – ok, Gibbs – noticing anything unusual, because if the Boss _had _noticed how slowly he was moving, or his occasional discreet sniffle, he'd never have managed to leave at all. He'd have been frog-marched down to Ducky, prodded, poked, dosed, and likely dragged off chez Gibbs for the weekend.

Which would have been kind of the Boss, honestly, but he didn't need tough love treatment for a _cold_, he just needed to be left alone.

"Too bad," the Vicious Bug said cheerfully, "I'm going to ruin your weekend anyway."

"No. You're not," Tony retorted. "For a start, you don't exist –"

He stopped speaking for a moment as he drove past the gatehouse; it wouldn't have done for the guards to think he was so far gone as to be talking to himself. He turned carefully out into M Street, happy to see that the salt wagons had done their job, and although the snow was still falling in light flurries, traffic was flowing freely. Again, good. Aching as he was by now in every joint, the last thing he needed was a difficult journey home.

What had he just been thinking? His thought processes were as slow and soggy as his physical state... oh yeah, the _Bug_. He'd been arguing with it...

"See, nothing's going to ruin my weekend... maybe dent it a little... but we closed the case. Well, Ducky did. Natural causes, the snow plough only got him later. One relieved driver now knows he didn't run someone over and kill him in the white-out. So, team happy, Gibbs happy, driver happy. Ellie happy cuz she gets to go home and spend the weekend with Jake. McGee and Wheels happy, cuz when the Boss found out Delilah was around he told McRomantic not to come into work today. Of course, yours truly may have planted the idea..."

The Vicious Bug sniggered. "Very noble of you. But I don't hear _your _name on the happy list."

"Actually, I am."

He was. He was so damn happy that he was the one Delilah had called for advice; that she'd trusted him enough, considered him enough of a friend, and that he'd been able to break the news gently and reassure her she wasn't the only one who'd been kept in the dark. He'd shamelessly eavesdropped on Tim's explanation to her and he knew they were good, so yep, he was happy about that too, and also that he'd made his own feelings known to his friend without them falling out.

_Why didn't you tell us about your father, Tim?_

Maybe he'd have actually got a satisfactory answer if Ellie hadn't arrived just then, but the moment was gone now, and yes, it had hurt, but he wasn't ever going to ask again. He'd made his point, and Tim didn't have to answer anyway. So yes, he was happy about that. He'd texted the McWeekenders about an hour ago, and no, neither of them was feeling the after effects of being out in the snow... but then, he recalled, Abby had brought Tim's coat but not his own, so he'd been the only idiot out there without one. Maybe he was a tiny bit unhappy about that, but he went on quickly, before the Bug could open its mouth.

"McGee's got his lovely lady, and a whole week with her to help him through things over his dad; and we've all got a weekend where we're not even on call. I'll be over you by Monday, and the Boss'll be none the wiser."

"Really?" the Bug drawled. Lord, it sounded just like _him_. "You know better than that. You decided I was vicious, remember. You can't just sweat me out."

"Want to bet?"

The Bug shut up, it wasn't sure; but then, neither was Tony.

NCISNCISNCIS

He was so glad when he reached home that there wasn't a neighbour anywhere about, to see him walking slowly up from his car on legs that felt like jelly. He was even more relieved when nobody saw his attempts to get his front door key into its slot; they've have wondered why he was blind drunk at that hour of the day. It fell to the floor from clumsy, fat fingers, and bending to pick it up was an exercise in logistics.

Bend the knees a little... don't tilt your head forwards – in fact, don't move it at all... bend again, from the waist, _slowly_... extend arm... close fingers on key. They don't look fat... but they're about as useful as that nice Cumberland sausage Ducky brings to Gibbs' cookouts. I mean, no, that's useful. To eat. Delicious, in fact. But not as fingers... Got it. _Don't drop it again... _Now, straighten up. _Slowly_, idiot!

So he did take it slowly, but he still had to lean against the door until his head stopped spinning. The Vicious Bug giggled happily. "This round to me. I'll take you up on that bet," it said smugly.

Tony steeled himself, and put the key into the lock with perfect precision this time. "You were saying?"

The Bug grumbled snidely in his ear as he headed into his home, but its words were unintelligible, and anyway, he wasn't listening. He dropped his back-pack by the door, then stood uncertainly, wondering what to do next. Shower? His knees were locked with the effort of staying upright; how would he cope long enough for a shower to do him any good?

OK... self medicate? _Anthony... you know very well there's no medication for the common cold. Rest, warmth and hydration are the only things that will help. _"Yes, Ducky," he muttered as obediently as if the ME were actually there. Eat? Don't think so. He knew well the old saying about feeding a cold and starving a fever. He also knew, because Nonna had told him a long time ago, that it meant the opposite of how it sounded. If you feed a cold, you'll end up starving a fever.

"Very profound," the Bug jeered.

"Are you still here?" He found himself looking round for physical evidence of the Vicious Bug's presence, and wondered if he already had that fever. He shook his head, but slowly. "If you have to fight something," he explained to himself, "it's better if you personify it. Gives you a target. Isn't that right, Theodore?" The Bug cringed, and fell into sullen, disgusted silence.

"Well, that's my moment of rationality for the night," Tony sighed. "Decision. Right. Advil. Water."

He walked carefully into the kitchen, shoulders hunched like an old man, and scrabbled around in the stuff-anything-you've-no-other-place-for drawer until he found the blister pack. He was glad he'd had the forethought not to get the hundred tablets in the childproof plastic pot; right now, he couldn't have opened it. Come to think of it, it wasn't even his own forethought – McHelpful had got him these.

He chugged two with a lot of water, made another decision, and headed for his bedroom. Sleep. That's all he needed.

His phone buzzed, and he stopped, wobbling, with one foot in the air. He put it down carefully, and stood still, since he couldn't retrieve the cell from his hip pocket and walk at the same time. He fumbled hopefully, but those sausage fingers were back, and the phone slipped out of his pocket and skidded away somewhere.

The Bug was laughing hysterically in Tony's ear as he looked round uncertainly. Ah. The ringing was coming from under the sofa. No problem. Shift furniture. Get phone. He grabbed one polished wooden arm and gave the usual heave.

Now this was odd... different... The phone had gone silent, it wasn't in his hand... something _seemed_ to be tickling his face, and he _seemed _not to be in the vertical position any more. _Does not compute..._

"You fell over, idiot. Definitely this round to me."

Fell over... yeah, that was right. He'd heaved, and the sofa hadn't budged an inch. The effort had set his head spinning uncontrollably, and here he was, horizontal on the rug. This time it was his turn to pointedly ignore his adversary; he'd have to concede this round, although he was pretty certain he was still ahead on points.

He stretched his arm out, thinking he might as well retrieve the phone since he was already down here, but the limb in question, although it did obey him after a fashion, was quite muscular, (although he said it himself,) and he couldn't get it any further under the sofa than his wrist. The Vicious Bug tittered irritatingly.

It laughed even harder as Tony tried to push himself up on his arms and clamber to his feet. The attempt made the weary agent stop and really consider, for the first time, just how rotten he truly did feel. His shoulders throbbed with the effort of bearing his weight; his arms were as rubbery as his legs, and the effort of straightening them made his already swimming head thump and his heart pound. His phone began to ring again, and the tone rattled around inside his skull until he saw spots in front of his eyes. There was no point in trying to get to it; two feet away, it was beyond his reach. His arms gave out, and he slumped back down, laying his head sideways on the rug this time; fluff up his nose was a no-no.

A soft blast of warm air from the duct on the wall a few feet away touched his face; the heating had kicked in. This was probably the most hospitable spot in the house right now, and it gave him the best idea he'd had all day. He pictured the Bug watching in puzzlement, as he awkwardly eased out of his coat. He reached one shaky hand up to pull the biggest cushion down from the sofa, and laid it on the rug.

"If Tony can't get to bed, bed'll have to come to him," he explained patiently, and lay down. He pulled his coat over him, put his head on the makeshift pillow, and closed his eyes with a smile and a quiet sigh. It was wonderful to finally do absolutely nothing...

NCISNCISNCIS

"You're worried, aren't you," Delilah said quietly.

"No. Yes, a little." Tim stopped fidgeting, put his phone down on the table, and turned back to face her.

Delilah took his hands. "Well, tell me what's bugging you. Maybe saying it aloud will help you to decide whether that's reasonable or not."

"It's only little things, really... they wouldn't mean anything if I didn't know Tony."

"And?"

Tim held up an index finger and tapped it thoughtfully with the other one. "He hates to miss anything. If he doesn't want to be disturbed he sets it to voicemail; he always checks it as soon as he can, and that's not just because of the 'never be unreachable' rule. He _likes_ to know. But he hasn't set it; it keeps ringing, and he just doesn't answer. I've kept calling, because if we want to take him out for dinner, and he misses the chance, he'll be so hacked off. That was my fourth try." Another finger joined the first one. "He _loves_ to know... he'd have phoned some time, just to find out if we were having a good time..."

Delilah grinned. "He wouldn't be so crass as to ask... he really was embarrassed about answering your phone that time –"

Tim shook his head ruefully. "I... wasn't actually thinking about that, believe it or not. He never ribs me about our sex life. I sort of thought he would, but he doesn't. I was thinking about Dad. I'm sure he's hoping that having you here will be helping me –" she raised an eyebrow – "yes, you _know_ it is... but he'd want to know, too."

"I still don't understand, love."

"When he phoned, he asked specifically about the snow angels. Well, about after effects. He asked if we'd had any – colds or coughs, you know... Why that, particularly? Why was that on his mind?"

"Ah. So you think maybe he's going down with one, and doesn't want to think he's caused either of us to catch one."

Tim sighed. "I wouldn't have cared... A cold would have been a small price to pay for seeing you out there, coming towards me." He squeezed her hands. "It was marvellous. I needed you so much... I couldn't believe it."

"Sap!" She leaned over and kissed him.

"That's me. OK, so he might not be getting sick himself. But he might. And he's not answering his phone."

Delilah nodded firmly. "OK, push my chariot over this way. Looks like Dr McGee had better make a house call. For his own sake, if not for Tony's."

"You're coming with me?"

"Of course." She smiled wryly. "I care about him too."

NCISNCISNCIS

"McGee... what are you doing up there?"

"Well, I don't know, Tony," Tim said patiently – Tony had clearly forgotten that he'd already asked that question once, and a whole lot of others. "Maybe wondering what you're doing down there?"

Tony appeared to think about it carefully. "Oh... well, I... er, I think I decided to sleep here. It was warm and comfortable, and the Bug would have laughed at me if I'd crawled to the bedroom."

That was the second time Tony had mentioned 'the bug', and Tim decided not to ask about it. He'd got used to Tony's convoluted thinking over the years, and knew he'd work it out in the end.

"Crawled? Couldn't you walk?"

"Don't think so..."

Tony's eyelids began to droop again, then he opened them sharply and asked, "How did you get in, McBurgle?"

"Your key was still in the lock, Tony."

"Oh... oh. But... but you should be at home with your lovely lady... not... not..."

"My lovely lady's right here."

There was a soft, whirring sound as Delilah sped back into the room with a folded blanket and one of the down pillows from Tony's bed in her lap. Tony wanted to say thanks, and 'Hi, Wheels', but couldn't find the energy. He managed a weak grin, which Delilah returned reassuringly, but his eyelids began to droop in earnest this time.

"Oh, no, no you don't. Not yet."

"N't yet, Mc... Mc...?"

"Going to get you up on the couch. You can't sleep on the floor."

"I just did..."

Just agree, McGee... "That's right, you did. Now, come on, give me a hand here, you can sleep later."

Tony tried, he really did, and he at least managed not to be a hindrance to his friend as he part lifted, part dragged him up onto the sofa, and pulled his shoes off. Delilah laid the pillow down for him, and covered him with the blanket, insisting as he tried to push it off.

"Too hot, Wheels..."

"I know. Leave it, you have to keep warm. We kind of noticed the fever as soon as we arrived. You said it's the vicious bug's fault."

Tony nodded owlishly. "Mmm. The Vicious Bug. I call him Theodore, he hates it. He's trying to ruin my weekend, but he won't. Got my secret weapons now... McDoc and Superwheels... too hot..."

Delilah folded the blanket back, as Tim brought a bowl of cold water and a face cloth. Delilah set it down on the coffee table, wrung out the cloth, folded it, and put it on the sick man's forehead, and over his eyes. He sighed in bliss. "Wheels, you're an angel." By the time she felt it was time to cool it again and re-apply it, he was asleep.

They spoke in low voices; glad to have some time now to talk about the situation. They'd been alarmed when they'd found Tony's door ajar, with the key still in the slot, and Tim would certainly have drawn his gun and told Delilah to wait out of sight, if he hadn't been able to see the untidy heap on the floor by the sofa. They'd rushed in, making enough noise to rouse Tony from his sleep, but not to make him coherent; clearly a high temperature seemed to have the same effect on him as the top quality analgesics that he always referred to as 'the good stuff'.

They'd anxiously set to work to find out what was wrong, and make him comfortable, and now they had to decide what to do next. Tim sat on the corner of the coffee table, beside Delilah's chair, and they put their heads close together.

"He says it's just a bug," Delilah whispered. "A bug he seems to have arguments with."

"Is that what he said? He's having some sort of battle with an imaginary foe?"

"It sounds like that. Didn't you tell me he once fought a duck that spoke like Ducky and called people names?"

Tim winced; he remembered that very well. "That was painkillers... I think this is just the temperature. I don't know if I should trust my own judgement though." He felt that if they so much as whispered the name of Ducky, Tony would be up and insisting he was fit to go to work that very moment, and they'd have the devil of a job trying to stop him from running out of the building in his shirt-sleeves and socks.

As he confided his worries to Delilah, she smiled. "I never quite knew whether to believe the things you and Abby have told me about him," she said ruefully. She wrung out the cloth and replaced it again, and Tony slept on. "Not the first man I've ever met who doesn't want to appear weak in front of others. D'you think he _needs_ Ducky?"

Tim grimaced, and looked closely at the sleeper. "Probably not...but it's not _his_ ass that's on the line if I _don't_ tell Ducky he's ill. But I know he wouldn't want me to."

"And he _is_ your friend."

"And he _is_ my friend."

"Well, love... we can't leave him anyway, so let's let him sleep, and see how he goes. We'll keep him cool. If his temperature drops, we'll keep him warm. And if we still think we should call Ducky when he wakes up, he doesn't get a choice. You call, I'll sit on him."

Tim wrapped his arms round her. "Not how I planned to spend our weekend... you're wonderful, Miss Fielding, d'you know that?"

"Oh, I _do_..."

NCISNCISNCIS

They made coffee. They watched TV with the sound turned way down. They changed the cold face cloth on Tony's forehead. They tried to share the armchair. They hunted around for something to eat, but the SFA's cupboards were about what you'd expect for someone who's never home. They finally found a tin of biscuits. They changed Tony's face cloth. They watched some more TV. They tried to cuddle with Tim in the armchair and Delilah in her chariot. They made more coffee. They tried to share the armchair...

It was a long four hours.

Tony muttered something about 'Theodore', and shifted on the sofa. Tim went to make sure he didn't fall off, and found two bleary green eyes regarding him. "Tim..."

"Yeah. _Not_ Theodore. Is he still around?"

"He was," Tony said more coherently. "I'm beating him though."

"Does that mean you're feeling any better?"

"Better? Yes... I guess... I mean... How bad was I?" He looked nervously from one to the other, and the smiles they returned him made him very nervous.

"Out of your skull," Tim said seriously, struggling to conceal the relief he was feeling.

"Completely," Delilah agreed gravely.

"Oh no..."

"Sshh." She laid her hand on his brow. "Your temperature's coming down. Do you need anything? Food? Drink?"

Tony pulled a face. "Not food. Cup of tea?"

"We'll have some too," Tim said, and helped him to sit up, while Delilah went to make the hot drinks.

Tony groaned. "Out of my skull? In front of Delilah?"

"Just kidding. We did remember the imaginary mallard, though." Tony gave an involuntary glance towards the door. "No, we haven't sent for him. And unless you start coughing, we won't, OK?"

Tony just nodded, but the gratitude in his eyes almost made Tim gulp.

Delilah came back with a tray full of mugs, and they drank their tea in companionable silence, with Tim watching his friend closely, in case he dozed off again and dropped his mug. When that happened for the third time, Tim called a halt. "Enough. Come on, Tony, you need more sleep."

"'m fine..."

"Bed. Come on, I'll help you. Can you stand up?"

He half expected the Bug to tell him he couldn't, but it had been sulkily quiet since he'd woken up. "Sure I can. Wait wait wait... why can't I just sleep here again?" He attempted to flop back down onto the sofa, but Tim was having none of it, and hauled him back up, pulling Tony's arm over his shoulders.

"Because you need to be in your bed, and me and Delilah want the couch."

Tony threw a glance back at the armchair with its cushions askew, grinned, and grunted his acquiescence.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

He tried dropping it into the lava of Mount Doom, like Gollum; that was fun. He picked it up and hurled it down the shaft like Darth Vader disposing of the Emperor; yes, he liked that too. He squashed it flat with a giant peach, but remembered that that didn't actually kill Spiker and Sponge. He threw water on it, and the Vicious Bug screeched, melted and dwindled away. Tony sank into a deep, healing sleep with a grin on his face.

On the sofa, Tim and Delilah slept happily in each other's arms.

**AN: Silly story... sappy ending... but I had to write **_**something**_**.**


End file.
